


Making Things, Like Memories and Socks

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commission for YarnandteaisallIneed.tumblr.com, Ziya Surana tells a story of his hedonistic past, and Wynne isn't pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Things, Like Memories and Socks

 

Occasionally, at dusk, when the mud and dust and darkspawn viscera was shaken off, after the tents were pitched and the pot of stew was shared, a comfortable lull spread over the ramshackle camp. Morrigan still kept to herself, despite attempts to coax her into the camp proper. She lit her own fire, set up her own tent, and kept watch within range of sound, though perhaps not sight. The others sat around the fire, without Shale and Sten, who both seemed indifferent towards the concept of fraternization. Leliana strummed her lute in an aimless melody, while Wynne kept her nose buried deep into a battered copy of Orlesian history. Oghren and Zevran shared bawdy jokes and a jug of foul-smelling Dwarven Ale purchased in Orzammar.

Nearer to the fire than the others, Ziya Surana sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning the majority of his weight against the amiable Mabari at his back. Worn out from gnawing an ox bone given to him by Alistair, Dane rested contentedly behind his master, his massive head laying on his crossed paws. Sitting at his haunches, next to Ziya, was a small satchel, a long strand of cream-colored wool trailing up to the knitting needle he held in each hand. With the singular focus that came with practice and patience, he passed the yarn between each needle, looping another strand over with his right forefinger on every pass. Though he was no less gregarious than Zevran, and often interested in Leliana's music and tales, he was quiet, peaceful in his industry.

As it grew darker and the ball of yarn grew smaller, Alistair returned from a patrol around the outskirts of camp. Ziya did not look up from his knitting as Alistair sat beside him, even though he was able to hear him coming from twenty paces away.

"You knit?" Alistair asked, and Ziya did not need to see his face to know the disbelief written on it.

"I could say I conjured this sweater from the Fade, if that would make a better story." Ziya finished a few stitches before resting his hands in his lap, glancing up to catch Alistair's warm brown eyes.

"I'm just surprised. I didn't know that the Circle taught mages to knit." Alistair reached behind Ziya to pat Dane's flank. The mabari wagged his stubby tail briefly before shifting just enough for Ziya to need to sit up. He crossed his legs and sat forward onto them, picking up his needles again.

"They don't generally teach you anything other than the Chant and how to control your magic," Ziya said, his deft fingers again looping wool around the needles. "I asked Wynne to teach me."

"Oh! I didn't know you two knew one another that well when you were in the Circle."

"I knew everyone." Ziya tilted his head up at Alistair and smiled. Alistair coughed into his fist, color rising on his cheeks.

"Yes, I, uh, gathered from your stories that you were fairly popular." He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced across the camp at Wynne, still engrossed in her book. "I suppose you had a lot of, urm, platonic friends as well, then?"

"Yes and no." Ziya finished binding off his knitting and slid it off the needle.

"That doesn't look much like a sweater,"Alistair said, wrinkling his nose at the strip of knitted yarn.

"It's just a sleeve."

"Ah. What do you mean by yes and no?"

"I had friends that I didn't go to bed with," Ziya said, slipping his needles and the sleeve into the satchel at Dane's haunches. "Wynne was not one of them."

"Maker's breath, must you?" The entire camp, Dane included, looked up at the sound of Wynne's annoyed interjection. Though he was bleary from ale and exhaustion, Zevran's eyes lit up.

"I knew it!" Zevran said with a grin. He wobbled to his feet, then over to Ziya and Alistair, either ignoring or not seeing the daggers Alistair glared at him. "I knew she was lying about the orgies!"

"I certainly was not!" Wynne pursed her thin lips. "And I would appreciate not having my past indiscretions brought up in such a manner."

"But you must tell us now," Zevran insisted.

"In that case, I believe I shall see if Morrigan wants company," Wynne said coolly, getting to her feet with care.

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't," Alistair said. "I walked past her when I was scouting. She set a bush on fire and told me to drop dead."

"I will take my chances." Wynne picked up her bedroll and book, and with one last stern look at Ziya, left camp.

"A pity," Zevran said. "It is always better to hear both sides of the tale. But we must not dwell on disappointment. Tell me, was her bosom as magical as it appears?"

"I don't kiss and tell," Ziya said. Zevran groaned,and Alistair let out a soft sigh of relief.

"You cannot have an experience like that and not share it!" Zevran frowned as Ziya shook his head. "Bah! Fereldans!" Still unsteady, he stood and stomped into the woods just outside of camp, returning a few minutes later to stumble to his tent.

"Well, this was an exciting night, maybe I should get to sleep as well," Alistair said, and laughed shakily. "Got to be rested for all the darkspawn killing were going to do tomorrow!" Ziya rested his hand lightly on Alistair's arm, smiling at him when he met his eyes. Alistair glanced at the camp to see that he and Ziya were actually the only ones awake, save for Dane, who was now sniffing around the perimeter. "Look, you don't have to explain anything. I know your life was...different then."

"I'd rather you know," Ziya said quietly. Alistair ducked his head and put his hand over his face.

"She's old enough to be my grandmother, " he groaned.

"I'll spare you the details. I promise."

"All right then, but if I can't look Wynne in the eyes after this, I'm blaming you, " Alistair said, flushing when Ziya chuckled.

"I've always had a thing for authority figures," Ziya began. "But I didn't immediately try to get into bed with Wynne. I met her later than the other enchanters, and she always seemed kind, but humorless, so once I sat through a couple classes with her, I didn't think much about anything I could do with her other than learn. I had a lot of other people to keep me busy."

"Templars?" Alistair asked cautiously.

"Some. It was stupid of me. I realize that now." Ziya smiled. "But I didn't care at the time. I love being touched. I love when people are smitten with me." Ziya inclined his head at Alistair, his smile growing at his crimson cheeks. "I didn't think Wynne would be interested in that, so I tried to make friends with her instead. I always wanted to be on everyone's good side--it made things easier for me when I was inevitably caught with some new Templar recruit or another mage. It was rather selfish of me, to be honest. I wasn’t interested in anything other than getting on the good side of as many people as possible, especially Senior Enchanters.”

With a grunt and a huff, Dane flopped next to Ziya and slid his big head into his lap, rolling his eyes up plaintively to stare at Ziya. When he didn’t immediately begin to pet him, Dane hauled more of his massive body into his lap and began to whine, the high, fluttering whistle only ceasing when Ziya scratched his ear.

"It was knitting that got me interested enough to approach her." Ziya stroked Dane's head from nose to neck, stopping there to scritch under his collar. "I couldn't figure out how it worked just from watching, and I'm not very good at letting things alone when I'm curious."

"I never would have guessed that." Alistair grinned.

"This is going to be a very long story if you keep interrupting me," Ziya said with a wry smile. Alistair motioned silently for him to continue.

"Since I had a reputation by then-- and no, I didn't always have it--Wynne wasn't willing to give me the time of day, at first. But I'm persistent, even if all I want is to learn to mend my own socks. I kept asking her and finally she sat down with me, gave me her old needles and showed me how it was done." Ziya looked down fondly at Dane, who had rolled onto his back, head still in his lap, belly fully exposed. "It took a very long time for me to get the hang of it," he said, giving Dane a rough belly rub. "So we spent a lot of free time together. I don't think she gives herself enough credit for how much trouble she kept me out of during these lessons, especially since a group of new Templar recruits was brought in while she was teaching me." Alistair cleared his throat and Ziya glanced at him quizzically, still scratching Dane’s exposed belly.

"Mages and Templars are usually like cats and dogs," Alistair said, glancing down to see Dane's stubby tail kicking up dust as he wagged it furiously. "Or fire and tinder, maybe. Why were you so...?"

"I don't really think I have the kind of answer you're hoping for. I enjoy sex, relationships were forbidden, and Templars came to the tower after spending years in training, in close quarters with nothing but other Templars and their instructors. To them, I was new, exciting, attractive, and very willing. It's no real wonder that they followed me into linen closets or behind the stacks in the library." Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, brows furrowed, but he said nothing. "I have some regrets," Ziya said quietly, bringing his hand to rest on Dane's muscular chest. The Mabari snored lightly. "But I don't feel any shame for what I did."

"Maybe that's good." Ziya cocked his head at Alistair, eyebrows raised in curious surprise. "That you're not ashamed, I mean. You're not a bad person."

"I might have been," Ziya said with a soft laugh. "I broke a lot of hearts. I was selfish. I got a lot of people into trouble." He smiled. "Do you want to hear this story or not?"

Alistair nodded, and Ziya continued.

"After talking with Wynne a bit, during knitting lessons, I found out that she was the only other mage I'd met that could call on spirits for healing. I did meet another later, but he was more trouble than I was. I was fascinated, and listened to anything she would tell me about how she discovered she could communicate with a spirit and how she did it. Between our mutual interest in spirit healing and knitting, we became rather close. There were weeks when I wouldn't see anyone else outside of classes and meals because I'd go straight to her quarters afterwards to knit. I fell asleep in her chair a few times, and I'd wake up covered in a blanket, with my knitting off to the side. We were friends--we are friends, I think." Ziya shifted as Dane, blearily awake, hefted his entire body into Ziya's lap and rested his head under his chin. Ziya grunted at the added weight, wincing and patting him on the back. "Eventually she was comfortable enough with me to share a bottle of wine or two with me, even though apprentices weren't allowed to have any, and one night that ended with me in her lap and it went from there."

"Huh."

"I figured you wanted the short version--okay, that is more than enough. You go lay down," Ziya said, shifting focus to Dane in the middle of his sentence when the mabari began licking his face. With a dejected whimper, Dane picked up his ox bone and lumbered over to where a blanket and bowl of scraps waited for him. He dropped his huge body with a grunt, pointedly watching Ziya and Alistair.

"I thought it'd be a lot more embarrassing for the way she reacted." Alistair shifted his shoulder, pressing his palm down on it as he rotated it, sighing when it cracked audibly.

"I'm a lot younger than her, a lot less dignified, and she was supposed to 'know better' than to have a little affair with an apprentice. I might not be ashamed, but maybe she is." Ziya shrugged. "It was nice, though. We were both a little drunk, no inhibitions at all."

"And her age didn't bother you? I mean, I'm not sure exactly how old you are, but I know she's a good deal older than both of us."

"I'm twenty-four, and it didn't. I'm not sure why you think it would."

"Well, she..."

"Has grey hair? Wrinkles?"

"...yes."

"I don't see a lot of ugliness," Ziya said, rising to his feet. "Anywhere. Not in people, at least." Tilting up his chin, he looked at the night sky, the stars twinkling on the purple-black void. "This Blight is ugly, the war is ugly, but everything else is beautiful."

"Everything?" Alistair asked, a dubious tone creeping into his amiable voice.

"And everyone."

"I can't imagine you find _everyone_ beautiful. What about Oghren.”

“Have you ever seen anyone else with hair that color? It’s stunning.”

“Well, Leliana’s a redhead too.” Realizing Ziya was walking away, Alistair got to his feet and followed him.

“Yes, but her beauty is in her neck and her lips and her eyes.”

“Morrigan, then.”

“Her eyes, her snarl, the smooth expanse of her bare back.”

“Sten, you can’t find anything beautiful about Sten.”

“Sculptors would carve his musculature into statues if they only had the tools to do so.” Ziya grinned and turned, and only then Alistair realized he’d been following him to his tent. “Long-legged beauties would be jealous of Zevran’s thighs,” he continued. “And the fire glitters off of Shale’s gems in a dozen beautiful colors.”

Alistair chuckled and scuffed the dirt with a boot.

“And you--”

“Oh, no no, you’re not going to wax poetic about my face or my feet or something.” Alistair raised his hands.

“You turn the most interesting color of pink when I smile at you,” Ziya finished. “Are you joining me in my tent or not?”

“Last time I did, I woke up with Dane drooling on my head,” Alistair said. “So maybe I’d better not.” He hung his head, stared at his boots for a minute. “Thank you for telling me, you know, about all of that.” At the light brush of Ziya’s fingers on his cheek, he looked up, swallowing a mouthful of nervous words.

“But I lied,” Ziya said. He ran his hand down, stroking Alistair’s jawline with his thumb, feeling the scrape of whiskers growing in. Alistair met his gaze, but only briefly, heat rising fast on his face, his ears burning. “There are so many beautiful things about you, the least of which is how you think that I am telling you stories, rather than asking you for absolution.” Alistair’s face crumbled in confusion, his lips parting silently. “You’re too good for me,” Ziya whispered.

“Don’t say that,” Alistair said sharply, then repeated it in a more gentle tone. “I’m not. I’m just an idiot with a sword and no idea how to do anything unless someone shows me first.” He took Ziya into his arms, cradling the back of his head with one hand, the other firm around his chest. “I don’t care what you’ve done; you’re amazing, and nothing could make you any less.” Ziya clutched fistfuls of Alistair’s shirt, tugging it tight to his back, but he kept his chin high. Alistair released him and gently cupped his chin, tilting up his head to kiss him lightly.

“Stay with me,” Ziya said quietly when they parted, still holding to Alistair’s shirt. “Until I fall asleep.”

“And if you can’t?” Alistair asked, brushing one escaped curl behind Ziya’s ear.

“Stay anyway.”

 


End file.
